


Allegro Appasionato

by MartianSquid



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Katsuki Yuuri, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Omega Yuri Plisetsky, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky Is a Katsuki Yuuri Fan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-11-16 13:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18095549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartianSquid/pseuds/MartianSquid
Summary: In retrospect, it's obvious, but these things always are. There were clues, yes, but none of them are detectives. Now, with Yurio squirming on the couch and Yuuri trying not to give in to instinct, neither knows what to do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is Victuuri in this fic, but it's not the main focus, so I didn't want to tag it primarily. Definitely read the tags!

In retrospect, it’s obvious.

Clue #1: They’d been living together in St. Petersburg for a few months, to very little incident. After about a month of adjustment, Yuri had become… Oddly docile. Smiling, offering high (well, relatively) praise, doing chores around the house, unprompted.

Well, according to Yuuri, anyway. Viktor claims the young Russian is still as angry as ever, but only when Yuuri isn’t around.

“Seems my Yurachka has developed a bit of a crush.” Viktor teases, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell dear Yuuri.”

Clue #2: Yuri doesn’t deny it, or say anything at all, though he does kick Viktor in the shin, leaving a nice bruise.

Viktor takes it easy at practice for a few days, dramatically bemoaning his life-threatening injury. Yuri only smirks, a little pleased with himself, performing well enough to earn praise from Yakov.

Clue #3: Yuri became _affectionate_. So much so that it had become commonplace for Viktor to find Yuuri and Yurio curled up together on the couch.

The first time, he takes pictures, posting them with the caption: _my darling boys xx._

When they blow up on Instagram, Yuri threatens to tear out Viktor’s “already thinning” hair. Viktor keeps the pictures to himself after that, though occasionally he’ll print one out and put them up around the house, hidden under pillows, paintings, the flour jar… Secretly, Yuri doesn’t mind those as much. Even keeps a few that he claims were ripped up.

Still, neither Yuuri, Viktor, Yuri, nor even Yakov put it together.

Clue #4, though he can only see it in hindsight: Yuuri’s skating jacket goes missing.

 

* * *

 

They’re watching a movie. Well, _Yuuri_ is watching a movie, Yuri is relaxing after a hard practice. Or at least, that’s his excuse.

What had been unthinkable, cuddling, is now a fixture of daily life, whenever Yuri can squeeze it in. It’d started slow, a hug here and there, finally, Yuuri’s arm thrown over his shoulder, drawing the young Russian closer.

From then on, affection exploded out of Yuri, craving it at all times, free to seek it out without reservation, unembarrassed. Katsudon started it, after all.

“Katsudon~” Yuri purrs, nuzzling into Yuuri’s chest, eyes closing lazily. He feels the beginnings of nodding off, body tingling, warm, cozy, _safe_ …

Except he isn’t nodding off. Yuri keeps trying to give into sleep, but one thing or another keeps stopping him. His leg twitches. His arm is going numb. His stomach gets a stray stab of pain. His head feels too heavy. He can’t get comfortable enough to sleep, and he feels odd… stirrings.

“Mm…” Yuuri groans softly, stretching out, pulling Yuri’s legs over his lap, torsos close, Yuuri’s face tucked into his neck, inhaling, “Yura…”

It’s… more intimate than they’ve ever been, somehow. Yuuri isn’t usually so _forward,_ it’s enough to make Yuri’s spine tingle, rouge blooming over his cheeks, breath sucked out of his chest, “Ka… Katsudon?”

As if Yuri’s neck were suddenly hot coals, Yuuri jerks back, his eyes pop open, pupils blown, everything in his expression pure _need_ , as if he were really, _truly_ seeing Yuri for the first time in his life.

Hands clap over Yuuri’s nose and mouth, that same expression morphing into _panic_ , “I- I have to go!” He announces, hopping up on shaky legs. He should’ve known. With the personality changes, anyone should’ve.

“Wait, don’t…” Yuri reaches, arm weak, fingers grasping at Yuuri’s sleeve, “I… what’s happening?”

“You’re…” But Yuuri can’t speak, as each word draws in another whiff, suffocating him with pure _delight_.

“I’m…?” Yuri asks, face, body on fire. He falls back on the sofa, releasing the older man’s sleeve, breathing hard, “It hurts…”

Yuuri’s heart throbs, falling to his knees, face hovering close to — but not touching, Yuri’s — “A-an omega…” An omega in _heat._ The first, it seemed, always deemed to be the hardest.

 _What?_ _No. Impossible._ He wants to protest — he can’t be, most present before 13, and he’s well past that — but everything about the situation either screams that it’s the only answer, or is blotted out by his mind going fuzzy by the closeness of Yuuri, an alpha.

 _His_ alpha.

“Katsudon…” Yuri’s eyes are pleading as his voice, throwing his arms around Yuuri’s neck, pulling himself close, pressing his nose into him, inhaling deeply. That _scent_ , it’s enough to dull the pain in his skin, though he feels an embarrassing puddle beginning to form in his underwear.

 _Control. Control._ Katsuki internally chastises himself, beads of sweat welling up on his nape, drawing the omega into his arms, much to the younger man’s delight. “I’m… not going to do anything.” He says, more a declaration to himself than to Yuri. He has to be good.

He’d presented as an alpha as a teen, and he’d done his best to ignore it. He’d always had eyes for Viktor, after all, who was, is, a beta. It (breeding, heats, dynamics) had never really mattered to him. He’d never been _around_ anyone in heat before, though sometimes Phichit would forget to wash his clothes until a few days after he’d sequestered himself, Yuuri caught a whiff here and there, but he’d tried not to linger, and still nothing this _close_ and _fresh_.

“W-what?” Yuri can feel his heart break. He’s never really educated himself in this stuff, the beta sex education classes just talking about sex in general, but he just _knows_ what he needs right now. Instinct, he guesses, but it hardly matters, “I… you…” He can’t quite articulate his point, yelping a little as he’s lifted off the couch cushions.

“I’m going to take you to your room.” Yuuri licks his lips, reigning his thoughts in, “And… bring you some things.” Water, food, towels, ibuprofen, if he remembers his classes correctly, “ _Away_ from me.”

“Yuuriiii,” he whines, eyes watering, fever climbing into his face.

“We… can talk about it when you’re thinking clearly.” _When I’m thinking clearly._ Some evolutionary drives just can’t be reasoned with and he knows it. He walks them into Yuri’s bedroom, the man squirming in his arm, giving some half-hearted protests that were more noises than actual words. However, upon pushing through the door, it becomes sweetly obvious what he’s on about.

“Oh,” Yuuri blushes hard, seeing his skating jacket in his bed, wrinkled from use, “I’ve been looking for that.”

“I… I was just…” Yuri is panting, wondering when he’d started dying of thirst, weakly trying to cover his face in embarrassment, “Holding it, while I slept…”

“That’s…” Yuuri tries not to be _touched_ , willing the act of affection not to crumble his resolve. He can’t, won’t, just take advantage of Yuri’s first heat…

Even if it’s tempting.

Even if his mouth is watering.

Even if it’s been clear how he’s been feeling lately, stealing his clothes, doing small acts of service, treating him like a potential mate…

He shakes out of it, swallowing as he gently lays the omega on his bed, breathing increasingly shallow. “I’ll be right back.” He says too quickly, then practically bolts out of the room. He hears another whine, but it gets easier to stay away the more distance he puts between himself and the scent cloud.

In the kitchen, Yuuri is a mess, legs quivering, hyperventilating, trying to collect himself. He grabs a reusable shopping bag, going to the fridge and stuffing it with some of the chilled water bottles for practice, and some of the meal-prepped lunches. Nothing great, but any calories at this point would help Yuri deal with the increased metabolic demands of heat.

In the bathroom, he grabs a bottle of light painkillers, some of the older towels. He takes a moment to brace himself, looking in the mirror (ignoring how wrecked he looks), willing his breathing to slow. _Be responsible._

It probably won’t be enough, but he’s got to try.

Returning to Yuri’s room, even getting close to the _door,_ his resolve curdles, but he powers through. Walking in, he tamps down on another urge upon seeing Yuri shirtless, scratching lightly at his chest with both hands.

“It hurts…” He whimpers again, “Yuuri…”

“I know.” He holds his breath again, placing the bag within Yuri’s reach, “there’s… um… drink some of the water, take two pills. I’ll… maybe call Yakov. Maybe he knows something about this, he’s had to have coached other omegas…” _And at the very least, tell him you won’t be in to practice tomorrow._

“Fuck Yakov…” Yuri grumbles, reaching almost pathetically into the bag, doing as instructed. He wants to fight, tell Katsuki to _fucking help not just stand there for fuck’s sake,_ but any hope of feeling better, he is desperate to take.

“Feel better…” Yuuri backs away, swiping a towel from the bag, careful not to let their hands touch. Leaving, he does the only thing that makes any sense to him: locks the door from inside, and closes it from the outside, and jams the towel into the gap.

He throws himself into his own room, fumbling for his phone, panicking, hoping someone else knows what to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot of Yuuri's self-doubt and anxiety, and lots of conversation between him and Viktor about how to proceed, and some world-building. If that's not your thing, the next chapter should be more, ahem, ~sexy~

Yuuri taps on his phone, screen locked, but lit, his picture of Makkachin both soothing his nerves and heaping more guilt onto him. He hadn’t _done_ anything, right?

Right?

 _Except_ …

Well, except that Yuuri has been subconsciously allowing it, even encouraging it. But he’d never pictured it going quite this far — Yuri was supposed to be a _beta_! He’d thought everything was just his way of accepting him into his life, and he’d appreciated the solid signs of amicable love…

In light of recent events, it’s horribly naive. Yurio, to Yuuri’s knowledge, has never been so affectionate towards anyone, ever. Despite the years spent with Viktor, the young Russian was still as harsh as ever, if not moreso. Because that’s how he expresses his fondness.

Or that’s how he _did_ , until Yuuri.

It’s funny, Yuuri thinks, finding Yakov’s number in his phone, he’d nearly forgotten he is an alpha at all. Maybe that’s why the answer had to smack him in the face.

_Yeah, that must be it._

“ _What?_ ” Yakov’s voice is strained.

Right. Viktor is still at practice. Lilia is there too. Can’t be a comfortable situation, and now Yuuri is interrupting. _Keep it simple_.

“Yuri is… not feeling well.” His voice cracks, and he already knows how lame he sounds. _Be more specific, you’re trying to help in some other way besides-_

 _No, don’t think about that_.

“What I mean is… uh…” He clears his throat, the words trying to choke him, because shouldn’t this be _his_ secret and- “He’s presenting!”

Yakov’s end of the line is silent for a moment, processing a whole twenty seconds before exploding, “ _He what?!_ ”

“What do I do?!” Yuuri feels as frantic as Yakov, the news still just hitting him.

His answer is a string of rapid Russian, he can pick out some of the swear words, but for the most part, Yuuri just listens, letting the foreign, angry rant quell the residual arousal.

“ _Vitya. Your apartment._ Now _._ ” Yuuri catches at least that much, _Good. Good. Viktor won’t be affected by him._ Yuuri grabs the front of his shirt, _He’ll understand. I wasn’t going to cheat. Yura smells good, but-_ _no. Don’t even go there._ He breathes, trying to keep his mind blank, since _apparently_ it couldn’t help but go bad places.

Yakov’s screaming brings back his focus, “I swear if you lay a _finger_ on him-”

“No! It’s not-! I wouldn’t-”

“You’d better not.” Yakov growls, “This early in his career? It would kill him.”

Yuuri doesn’t have to ask for clarification, and Yakov knows it. He’s heard it before, from Celestino, but what alpha in figure skating hasn’t? His old coach had always made it absolutely clear: Phichit was, is, young, career still in its infancy, so many years ahead of him. Heats were an evolutionary mechanism to get pregnant. Pregnancy would take anyone off the ice for at least 9 months, and more for recovery. More to make up for lost time. The professional skating world has left people behind for far less than that.

Yuri is even younger than that. Compounded by the fact of not _knowing_ , there’s a 100% chance the younger skater isn’t on any form of birth control.

“I know.” Yuuri responds, feeling more somber now, “I wasn’t calling for- for permission, or anything.”

“Vitya will be there soon.” It’s clear Yakov doesn’t believe him, but Yuuri doesn’t entirely believe himself either.

“Okay. Should… should I bring Yuri anything?”

“ _No_.” It’s an order, “You should stay as far away from him as possible until it’s over. It will only get worse.”

Hanging up, Yuuri lets the phone slip from between his fingers, thudding softly on the floor beside him. Okay. Okay. All he needs to do is _stay right here_. Sitting on the floor. Just don’t move. Don’t move. Viktor will be here, and then he _can’t_ do anything.

 _It will only get worse_ , had he heard that right? When he’d left him, he only seemed uncomfortable, pained, yes, but the medicine should’ve dialed it back.

Maybe he should go check on him.

_And nothing else._

He gets onto his feet, legs wobbling slightly as he tucks his phone into his pocket. He makes his way back to the door he’d practically run from earlier, heart feeling lighter with each approaching step. _Those are the pheromones_ , he tells himself, remaining cognizant of the unconscious cues, _and I’m better than that._

“Yuri, are you… okay?” No, he most definitely isn’t okay, and Yuuri feels dumb for asking, but if he’s confident in anything right now, it’s that _whatever_ comes out of his mouth is going to be dumb.

“Katsudon…” It’s a plea, shooting right into his heart. He wants to offer comfort, but it’s hard to do that with a door between them.

Maybe-

Before he could act, there’s a hand on his shoulder, “Yuuri.”

The voice is calm, steady, everything Yuuri _isn’t_ right now, and it’s exactly what he needs, “Viktor.” He lets out a breath, turning around and throwing himself in the older man’s arms, leaning bodily into him.

“My Yuuri,” there’s no hesitation in the hug’s return, wordlessly telling him that he’s not in trouble.

Not yet, anyway.

“I promise I didn’t…” He can’t finish the sentence, his mind screaming that yes, he _didn’t_ , but he sure as hell wasn’t standing outside Yuri’s door just now because he’s _innocent._

“I know,” his tone is somehow slightly amused as Viktor gently pries them apart, looking him in the eyes, “let’s talk away from here, yes?”

Yuuri nods, all too aware that the small of his back is beginning to sweat. Distraction is unavoidable standing here… when did he get _here_ , anyway?

Viktor walks them onto the balcony (why didn’t Yuuri think of that?) and shuts the door behind them. Yuuri takes a moment, inhaling the fresh air deeply, letting it cleanse the traces of Yuri from his lungs and brain.

They stand in silence for a while, Yuuri peering out at the cityscape of St. Petersburg. It’s intentional, he thinks, as Viktor joins him in his stare, letting the white noise of the world drown everything else out.

“I knew, you know,” Viktor, still looking towards the horizon, smiles far too much, especially for such a delicate situation, and yet, Yuuri knows that it’s probably a response to how anxious he feels, “I thought it was adorable. Little Yura and his childhood crush. Reminded me of someone else I knew.” He taps Yuuri on the nose playfully.

His love, trying to keep him from drowning in his own self-flagellation.

It makes him feel even worse.

“Then why didn’t you tell _me?_ ” It’s hard not to feel betrayed. Did Viktor not trust him to handle those feelings appropriately? Then again, with how things just went, maybe it was the right call.

_Still… maybe if I hadn’t been caught entirely off-guard, I might’ve backed off._

Viktor shrugs, “He seemed happy, you seemed happy. Why expose him and risk living with that? Although,” He flashes a smile, lightly wagging his finger, “It was _pretty_ obvious how he felt! I’m surprised you didn’t put it together.”

“It’s not like all of us are used to… that kind of attention.” Even as a beta, Viktor has more admirers practically launching themselves at him in public than _any_ omega in heat.

_Don’t think about it._

“Your charms are hidden,” he leans in, expression taken on a delighted, depraved quality, like when he’s about to demand something as a coach, “but anyone who gets to experience them is a lost cause from that moment on. From that perspective, who wouldn’t love my precious Yuuri?”

Yuuri swallows. It’s stuff like this that reminds him of _why_ the older skater defies all gender assignations. He commands your attention, and holds it.

“I…” It reminds Yuuri why he’s got to be better than his instincts.

“That, and I didn’t know about…” Viktor’s eyes dart in the direction of Yuri’s door, leaning back and shrugging, “I don’t have a nose for these things, of course.”

“He… didn’t smell like anything, until…” It’s mostly true, though Yuuri isn’t sure when “smelling good” had become “smelling like an omega.” On an intellectual level, he’d just noted that Yuri’s body wash had gotten stronger. Knowing what he knows _now_ … his body had probably unconsciously sent out some pheromones in response. And his actions hadn’t exactly said “no.”

“Yakov mentioned it’s not entirely uncommon, in certain professional sports, to delay the onset of presentation.” Viktor answers the unspoken confusion, “Lower body fat content delays some aspects of puberty. Yurio has been in competition from a very young age, and is more disciplined than most, especially since he’d been trying to do quads before seniors.”

It makes sense, though Yuuri isn’t a doctor. He’s heard of late presentation, but never why, alpha health classes and all.

“Well… what did Yakov say we do?” They can’t move Yuri out of the apartment in this state, every alpha within four streets would be on him. Yuuri could run off to a hotel for the next three days or so (was that how long the first was, if not knotted? He can’t remember).

“My Yuuri…” Viktor hums, “What do you _want_ to do?”

“I…” Yuuri’s mouth hangs open. _Want_ is different than _should_. Of course he _wants_ to, “Are you testing me?”

“Not at all.” Viktor steps towards the door, “Maybe it should be discussed at length, but every moment we spend talking, he suffers more.”

It’s a moot conversation anyhow, “Viktor, he can’t consent like this!”

“He’s already made it clear what he wants, or do you think his previous actions have been a lie?”

“Liking someone… and wanting to have sex with them… those are different things!”

“He treats you like a mate, that’s what it entails, and…” He laughs, as if there’s anything funny in this situation, “He isn’t out of his mind, he’s just in pain. He’s capable of honesty, especially if he doesn’t know it’ll help. You could ask.”

“He knows he wants me… or, at least, an alpha.”

“He’s been around plenty of alphas,” he grins, accepting the denial, wondering what Yuuri is looking for, but being happy to go along for the ride, “yet, you’re the one he chose.”

“It… wasn’t really a choice, was it?”

“Not consciously, but Yakov was shouting at you, something along the lines of ‘you should’ve known better.’”

Somewhere, distantly, in high school, Yuuri remembers. Presentation can be induced by a feeling of security. Romantic or sexual attraction. The latter, he couldn’t have foreseen, and the former… He’d _wanted_ to provide security, Yuri deserves that much.

Does he actually decide that’s how he feels, or is it the alpha in him?

“You… would be okay with that?”

“He’s in pain, isn’t he? It’d be mercy.”

Yuuri feels frustration bubble up, a tantalizing carrot being dangled in front of him, but he can’t just take advantage of it. “I don’t think you know all that you’re offering.”

“Oh?”

“He… wants me for a mate.” Yuuri’s heart is going too fast, somewhere between anxious, nervous, wanting to give in, but doesn’t want to let anyone down, “It wouldn’t just be this once.” _It wouldn’t just be sex._

“That’s something you should discuss with him. And Yakov is going to set up a doctor’s appointment, so he can get what he needs to make it easier going forward.”

“Viktor!” Yuuri pulls at his own hair, wanting to scream. He’s talking about technical details while he’s stressing over the emotional implications, “You’re- I love _you_.” _Didn’t Yakov send you here to deter me?_

“And nothing will change that, _da_?”

Sometimes, always, Yuuri is jealous of Viktor’s blind confidence. He sighs, relaxing his fingers, but leaving them in his hair. “No, nothing.”

“I’m going to go back to the rink,” Viktor shrugs, then waves his phone, “Text me when he’s feeling better.”

“Wait…” Yuuri eyes the door, knowing that if he goes inside, he really will be giving in. He needs to be sure. “What about Yakov?”

“Be safe, and I’ll tell him I sent you away.”

 _Be safe._ They have condoms in their room, right? He could run out and get after-heat pills. Maybe both, to be really safe, “If he… decides he doesn’t want me, I actually will go away.”

In response, Viktor kisses him. Yuuri lets himself get lost in the moment, eyes closing, arms closing over him again.

“Good luck,” the older man whispers, going back into the apartment, leaving Yuuri to his own decisions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started getting a bit long, so I broke it into two. Some smut, mostly conversation. The chapter after this one will be basically pure smut :x enjoy!

Yuri Plisetsky is on fire.

Or at least, that’s how he feels, and he suspects he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if someone came in a doused him in gasoline and lit a match.

Not that it started all that pleasant, but the second Katsudon had left the room, a tepid annoyance gave way to his blood incrementally amping up the temperature. It could’ve been an hour, it could’ve been five days ago, time has lost all meaning.

What’s worse is that he can’t move, body feeling so weak. He’s got nothing to do, can’t get on his phone, find his laptop, run back to Moscow and hide at his grandfather’s. No, all he can do is _think_.

Think about how pathetic he is. Think about how of _course_ he’s a fucking omega, because he thought he’d escaped that particular distinction for almost two years now, the possibility so far out of his mind… Think about how his feelings for Katsudon are apparently some hormonal imperative.

Think about how stupid he’s been. Making dinner? Cleaning the apartment? Cuddling up with him whenever Katsudon sat down? Katsuki had come by the door earlier, and he’d been so _thrilled_ just to hear his voice… And fallen right back into pain when he didn’t respond to his cry.

Pathetic. He’s pathetic.

He groans, both in disgust with himself, and with the stab of pain interrupting his thoughts. The only benefit to the pain is momentarily forgetting the embarrassing fucking reason he stripped off his pants and folded one of the towels under his hips.

His body has been changing, it has been for a while. Wryly, Yuri remembers when his most pressing fear was getting taller and throwing off his balance for jumps. Those were better days.

Would Yakov even let him skate like this? Well, not in heat, that much is obvious, but what did Katsuki say? The old man must’ve coached other omegas before? None that Yuri could remember. Christophe is the only omega that comes to mind that consistently makes it to the Grand Prix Finals. Not that omegas are incapable… they just tend to be less muscled, which means fewer quads.

Oh god. Is he going to lose his muscle mass? He’s heard that omegas produce more estrogen, which-

“Yuri?”

Yuri sits up, the tingle of excitement zapping his spine, jostled from his gloomy haze. “Yuuri.” It’s barely more than a whisper, and hearing himself, he doesn’t know that he should say anything else.

“I…” Yuuri had thought of something to say beforehand, but just being _here_ is enough to muddle his brain. And that needy voice… it’s enough to destroy anyone’s best laid plans. _Nerves might have something to do with it as well,_ he notes, knowing how he cracks under pressure, especially while trying to say _hey, I know you’re in a strange, painful, awkward place right now, but sex might make it better. Also, do you actually have feelings for me, or is it a chemical suggestion?_

Meanwhile, Yuri both does and doesn’t know what he wants. He wants Katsudon to come in. He wants him to go away. He wants to hold him. He wants him to die for doing this to his body. He wishes Viktor hadn’t interrupted earlier. Wishes no one did at all…

Yuri wants him. He had for months now. Maybe it’s the omega in him, but… If he really hadn’t presented until now, what had he felt in the bathroom in Sochi? It hadn’t just been annoyance.

He can’t actually believe it’s not real.

Groaning, he sits up, letting his arms come up to support him, albeit shaking, “If we’re going to talk, it shouldn’t be through the door.”

It sounds reasonable, yet it makes Yuuri’s heart leap into his throat at the implication. _No, you’re going to be responsible._ “I… don’t think I should. Not right now.” He clears his throat, readjusting his glasses, “I’m sorry for running away earlier, it’s not about you, I just didn’t want to-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

The door swings open, Yuri barely standing there, clutching to the knob for support, leaning against the frame, cheeks red, expression of heavy annoyance.

Oh, and in nothing but his underwear.

“Don’t fucking toy with me.” He growls.

It’s the most hostile thing the teen has said to him in weeks, and somehow it alleviates Yuuri’s guilt in all of this. _Because Yurio is still himself, somewhere in there._ “You shouldn’t be up.”

“You forced the issue.” He’s trying to stay angry, demanding, but being _this close_ , he’s warm, but not boiling. The lack of pain has lead to him realizing how _amazing_ Katsuki smells, and he (subtly) readjusts his posture to make sure nothing would run down his leg.

“I guess I did.” Yuuri says, matter-of-factly, finally, _finally_ knowing what to say. And do. Before Yurio can offer any more combativeness, Yuuri bends down, an arm going under Yuri’s arm and knees, sweeping him off his feet, carrying him back to the bed.

Yuri wants to protest, but even the most scant of skin-to-skin touch has him sighing with relief. His skin feels… happy? Somehow. All of him does. Overtaken, he throws his arms around Yuuri’s neck, pulling his face close in, instinctively finding the spot he smells strongest. _Scenting gland._

It’s still new to him, but his body seems to know what to do. Yuuri lays them both on the bed, stammering on about something that Yuri isn’t listening to.

As Yuri licks at his neck, tongue dragging over _that_ spot, Yuuri shivers, embrace tightening, train of thought derailing violently. He’d been fighting it, but in seconds he’s painfully hard, knowing he’s completely fucked.

“You, um, shouldn’t do that.” It’s the best argument he can come up with, and it’s pathetic. It’s not that he doesn’t want him to, but he _knows_ Yuri wants to do more than just tease it at. He can (and maybe shouldn’t, but that’s a different story) permit a lot of questionable things right now, but bonding would be so very beyond toeing the line. Too complicated for a heat-drunken mistake.

“Mm…” With a displeased whine, Yuri pushes him backward, crawling into his lap, body pressing into his, face not leaving his neck, “This is fine…” The pain is gone, and he feels _settled,_ a sweet comfort radiating out from his gently throbbing heart. He knows it’s not _fine,_ he feels… empty. Until Katsudon was touching him, his thoughts were consumed with being around him.

With that emergency quelled… There are other things he needs, which are quickly becoming pressing.

“Yurio…” Yuuri places his arms around him again, “Do you need anything? Did you take the painkillers? Drink water?”

“Yes, you don’t have to baby me.” There’s no venom in it, though he wishes there were, “I’m a… _you know._ Not a child.” He’s not sure why, but can’t bring himself to say it out loud yet. It won’t change anything, obviously, he is what he is, but saying it seems like it would make it truer, somehow. Like he’s accepted this fate.

Rather than think about that, he opts to start pulling up Yuuri’s shirt, to thankfully little resistance.

Well, at least physically.

“We don’t have to do this,” Yuuri says, reflexively taking off his glasses as his top is pulled over his head, setting them on the nightstand, “If you think you’ll regret it, I don’t-“

“Do you really think we can have a reasonable conversation when I’m like _this?_ ” Yuri groans, tossing the shirt carelessly behind him, rolling his hips for emphasis, “The only thing I’m going to _regret_ is presenting in the first place. Everything else…” He huffs, dragging his fingers over Katsuki’s exposed abs, “Just knot me and this ends, right?”

Yuuri’s heart stutters at the word “knot,” taking a moment to regain his composure, hands finding their way to Yuri’s hips, “It’ll make it… subside for a little while. Few hours, maybe. But especially the first time… It could go on for up to a week.”

“A fucking _week?!_ ”

“I… yeah.” Yuuri winces, the unspoken _unless you’re pregnant_ is enough to bring him back to reality for a moment, “I can go, if you’d rather we not-”

“Stop trying to talk yourself out of this,” Yuri unbuttons Katsuki’s jeans, “Unless you’re not alpha enough to even get it up.”

It’s obvious bait that he _knows_ Yuri doesn’t mean, but that doesn’t stop Yuuri from taking it. Sitting up, Yuri’s legs stretch out, straddling his lap, a move which is at least a little on purpose, and frankly, as it has been with every figure skater he’s fucked. Showy, sexy, irresistible, and they always know it. “Is this what you want?” He asks, hands pulling Yuri’s hips to grind into his, nosing into his neck.

“Almost, but you’re too slow-” he _yelps_ , a soft nip on his scent gland going straight to his stomach, dropping like a rollercoaster in free fall. It’s not enough to break the skin, not like he now realizes he _wants_ , but it’s more than enough to form a wet spot, now soaking into Yuuri’s lap.

“I’m going slow,” Yuuri pushes him back, eyes burning into focus, sliding the young Russian’s boxers off, “because you can’t handle getting fucked.” He has to bite his lip not to lose his mind at the sight of Yuri’s cock, smallish, leaking at the tip, wanting to lick it clean, “Not yet.”

Yuri blushes, now naked, vulnerable, that look in Katsudon’s eyes like he wants to devour him, whereas he still has his pants on. “I can handle _anything_ ,” he mutters, suddenly becoming fixated with a spot on the wall, willpower focused on not trying to cover himself up. Because Katsudon is right, he just can never admit to it.

He’s never wanted to feel “less than.”

Yuuri’s muted, amused laugh shouldn’t be _hot_ , but as the teen is flipped over forcefully by the hips, it is.

“You will.”

He gasps as he feels Yuuri’s tongue swipe across his hole.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus — school and my internship totally kicked my ass. And it's a shame, I usually use fanfiction as a stress reliever, but I didn't even have time for that. Definitely a tense few months. I'm past it now, so I should get back to a healthy amount of writing time.

It’s overwhelming. Katsudon is _relentless_. Every flick of his tongue has Yuri screaming out. He can’t catch his breath, suffocating in the most delicious way. Every time he thinks he might be given a moment of pause, it’s only to be readjusted to get _deeper_. On his knees, chest pressing into the sheets, biting at the pillow to keep from sounding too pathetic (to little avail).

There’s some joke about a pig being good at eating here, but Yuri is too far gone to put the words together in his mind. If he’s _that_ far gone, he’s probably dying, but he can’t seem to care. It’s too much, but still not enough.

He loves every second.

Yuuri’s tongue dips _in_ , and Yurio is most definitely _not_ crying into the pillow. Part of him wants to take control, because yes this is _amazing,_ but _come the fuck on_ he wants his heat to be _over_.

_Then again,_ he thinks, thighs quivering, _it’s not as bad with Katsudon around._

The pain isn’t as bad, or at least it isn’t as long as he’s being touched.

“Fuck,” Yuri groans as Yuuri pulls away, “just…” His legs collapse under him, laying face down in the sheets, unable to finish that sentence.

Yuuri laughs again, though this time it’s deeper, richer, more… depraved. “Soon.”

His tongue drags up his thigh, licking a trail of wetness that Yuri only just noticed had dripped its way down, “I…” Yuri blushes, choking on his words. It’s hot, but he’s embarrassed, but…

Yuri’s entire world shrinks down to a single finger, pressing against his slick entrance. It’s insistent, yet gentle, not taking more than he’s ready to give and yet it’s still not _enough_. Finally occurring to him that he’s been rather passive for most of this, he tries to steady his breathing as he lightly rocks his hips back-

He makes a humiliating squeak when Yuuri slaps his ass, even if lightly, “Don’t push yourself.” Katsuki chastises, drawing his finger back, the hand that spanked him now steadied on his hip, holding him firm in place as the finger slid slowly back in, “I’m not going to break you the first time.”

There’s a lot to process there — break? The first time? Multiple times? Will there be breaking later? — but Yuri isn’t given the time as a second finger joins the first.

“What a lovely sound.”

Had Yuri screamed? He can’t confirm, deafened by the blood rushing in his ears, his only sensations are those of being _full_ and overwrought with elation. Time drags on, one second dilates into minutes, fingers rubbing mercilessly into some delightful spot inside him that makes his heart _bloom_.

“ _Yuuri_ …” He whines, “Come on…”

“Mm,” His heart drops, hearing the slightest tinge of disappointment, then a steep drop of his stomach as fingers are completely withdrawn, “Ask nicely.”

Yuri clenches his fists, pushing himself half over, glaring at Katsuki, “I’ll fucking end you.”

“That’s… close.” Yuuri replies, placing a hand under his chin in mock consideration, “But maybe I’ll let you think about your phrasing a little more.”

He’s going to cry, he puts on a brave, angry face, but he’s going to cry.

Fuck, he _is_ crying.

“Oh. Oh no.” To his credit, Yuuri is _mortified._ He’s pushed too far and he knows it. Too much stimulation, not enough, too much teasing with someone who isn’t experienced. Gently now, he lays Yuri on his back, petting his hair until his breath evens, tears slowing.

Contrite, caring, he begins kissing Yuri’s neck, trailing a line down his sculpted body, licking the hollow of his hipbone. The teen shivers, discretely wiping his face on the back of his hands before threading his fingers into the black locks.

He nearly _howls_ when Yuuri sucks his cock into his mouth, fingers insistently pressing back _in_ and _oh-_

Crying resumes, this time out of overstimulation, as Yuuri _swallows_ and the teen wishes his body weren’t suddenly jelly, unable to look up to watch…

 

* * *

 

Had he fallen asleep? Yuri comes to, a loving hand carding through his hair, body held close to his alpha’s. Christ, how does he feel that _everywhere?_ “How long was I out?”

“Not long.” Katsuki kisses the back of his neck, body twitching, burning outward from the spot his lips touched… Crap.

Yuri turns over, weak arm pushing back into Yuuri’s shoulder, “It hurts again.”

He’d gotten off… Was that not enough? Or would it always be constant? The idea is horrifying.

A soft laugh, Katsuki licks his lips, kissing the younger man’s forehead, “I’ve got a fix for that.”

He returns the push, but harder, throwing Yuri onto his back. The omega squeaks, watching Yuuri’s eyes glaze over with…

Nikiforov assigned him _Eros_ for a reason, and now Yuri has a front row seat. The alpha sits back, finally, _finally_ starting to undo his pants. Fingers pry at the buttons, and Yuri can’t help but touch himself, lightly palming his already-hard-again cock.

There’s a primal growl as his hand is slapped away, “Don’t do that again.” Yuuri warns, jeans hitting the floor, boxers quickly joining them, “That’s for me to do.”

_For me to control_ , is the implication that has Yuri almost coming on the spot. And for fuck’s sake, Katsudon is _naked_ in front of him and his cock is large (normal for alpha), and Yuri is about to come again.

But he won’t. Because he really wants to see what his alpha has in store for him.

A finger pad presses softly, insistently rubbing at Yuri’s sensitive hole. He cries out, both in pleasure and frustration — it feels _good_ , but he’s already been prepared, already dripping with slick.

Another finger joins quickly, Yuri feels every millimeter, the slight stretch, his muscles trying to pull them, _anything_ , further in. “Katsudon…”

“You don’t have to beg, not yet.” Yuuri knew he’d overstepped earlier, and there would be days yet to push again, “That will come later.”

Fingers withdrew and Yuri felt _painfully_ empty, enough to groan, claw at the sheets beside him. Tears prick his eyes again, sniffling.

All of the hair on his body stands on end at the sound of foil ripping, eyes narrowing into focus at the square in Katsudon’s hand: _condom_.

“I got them from my room while you were out.” Yuuri replies to the unasked question and confusion.

Instinctually, Yuri balks. He wants…

Just. _Wants_. Everything. Not to have a barrier between them. Thoughts on the edge of his consciousness voice wanting to be _filled_ , not to have his mate intercepted by latex.

Katsuki doesn’t know this, he _feels_ it. More than sympathetic, rolling on the condom is nearly painful in and of itself — his own instincts screaming to _take_ and _breed_.

And he will. To a certain extent. He nudges Yuri’s legs open, rolling his hips forward, head of his cock slipping in easily, drawing a hiss from both of them.

“Fuck. Yes.” Yuri grunts out, hands flying from their place beside him, closing fast around Katsuki’s back, grip imploring him to _never fucking stop_.

Yuuri obliges. He rolls his hips again, slow, _slow_ at first, each thrust going ever so slightly deeper than the last. For now… he’s got control, he knows it won’t last, but for _now_ …

“Fucking _move_.” Yuri is crying again, sounding so deliciously vulnerable, but… There’s finally a _bite_ in his voice. Omega in heat or not, the Russian Punk is still under there somewhere. It’s enough to give him permission to…

“ _Yes_ ,” Yuri thrusts his hips up to meet Yuuri’s, “actually good for _something_ -”

A particularly sharp thrust from Katsuki kills whatever insult was about to come out of his throat. The older man leans in, an arm hooking under one of Yuri’s knees, drawing his leg up over his shoulder, body pressing in ever closer, deeper.

All that ballet training really pays off.

Yuri is whining, squirming under him. He’s so _close_ , but he can’t quite get there. He’s being filled, but it’s just not _enough_. The urge to antagonize is there, but his mind is frothing over, TV static turned up to max volume, the only thoughts he can grasp are _pleasure_.

He shutters hard as he feels Katsuki’s nose under his ear, inhaling deeply. It’s his turn to find that spot, exactly where he smells the sweetest, strongest. It’s all instinctive, only keeping himself in check as much as he needs to not bite down, _claim_ …

Yuri thrashes as Yuuri’s teeth drag over the skin.

“Oh fuck,” the thrashing sets Yuuri off, “I’m going to-“ He comes, cutting himself off, freezing in place as his knot expands inside of his omega.

Similarly, Yuri stills, screaming with empty lungs, winded by the force of his orgasm, crashing through him in quick, successive waves. His mind goes into free fall, body practically melting into the mattress.

They’d be stuck like this for a bit, he might as well enjoy it.

Carefully, Yuuri reaches for one of the old towels, mopping up the mess Yuri had made. Not quite what he intended them for, but… well, maybe his filthy mind had gone there once or twice during his frenzied supply run.

Tossing the towel on the floor to the side of the bed, something catches his eye.

“Thought you liked my jacket?” He teases lightly, brushing some damp hair out of Yuri’s face.

Yuri blushes, eyes blinking open just to squint and look away, “It- it stopped working.” The second he’d been so _close_ to Yuuri, to his scent, the jacket became stale in his nose.

“Mm.” He kisses his forehead, finding a comfortable way to rest on him. _I can’t imagine it will work ever again._ Which could complicate things.

They cuddle like that for about ten minutes. Yuuri’s knot ebbs, flaccid dick slipping out of Yuri. Almost in perfect response, Yuri’s stomach rumbles — with _that_ emergency taken care of, his body remembers his other needs.

Before he can say anything, Katsuki is handing him a pair of pajama pants, “Let’s get you some food.”


	5. Chapter 5

There is some instinctual need to feed Yuri. Sure, Katsuki had brought him some of the meals they kept on hand for practices, but shuffling around the kitchen in his sweatpants, he finds some bizarre satisfaction in frying the rice, the pork, putting the bowl together.

He’d set Yuri up at the table, carrying him there from the bed, soft pants and a bathrobe loosely belted around him — the teen’s body so thoroughly worn out, he could barely sit up, curling over onto the tabletop, lazily looking at his phone, through his social media feed to iron out his mind after the chaos. His stomach rumbles, Yuri whining a bit every time he breathes in the smells too deeply.

And Yuuri is happy to provide.

Putting the katsudon in front of his omega, Yuuri is about to warn him that his cutlets aren’t as good as his mother’s, but he doesn’t get the chance. As Yurio snatches the bowl up, inhaling the food, Yuuri is almost afraid his arm would follow.

“Um, there’s more if-”

“ _Yes_.” Yuri growls, nearly swallowing everything down without chewing.

Yuuri smiles, returning to the kitchen to bring him another bowl. Returning, Yuri is already done with the first, but takes the second in a slightly slower pace, almost like a normal human, but one that hadn’t eaten in a few days.

Standing behind his chair, Yuuri places his hands on his shoulders, giving the teen a light massage.

“Oh my god…” Yuri moans, mouth half-full, melting backwards, “You are the best.”

“Well, besides the uncharacteristic compliment, how are you feeling?”

Yuri chews, swallowing, sighing softly, “I feel…” he blinks a few times, considering the dull ache between his legs. Could he walk on his own without agitating the pain? Knotting was amazing in the moment, but the following reality was less than pleasant. Yet another thing to hold against Katsudon when this is all over. Though… it’s difficult to be that upset when he’s being lavished in attention, “Almost normal?”

“Sounds about right,” Yuuri pulls his hands back, “when you… get knotted, the need subsides for a while. But, ah…” He scratches the back of his head, “when your body realizes you aren’t… _expecting_ … It’ll resume.”

Yurio pouts, “How long will _that_ take?”

“A few hours? It’s different for everyone, based on body weight, chemistry, things like that… I believe each successive pause gets longer until it stops.”

Yuri grumbles, leaning forward to lick the last bits of rice out of the bowl. He seems… less angry, annoyed than he was before, even less than his usual baseline. Still, none of this can be easy for the teen.

“More?” Yuuri offers, taking the two empty bowls to the sink.

“No.” Yuri answers, getting back on his phone, “I feel gross.”

“A bath, then?”

Rather than answer, Yurio glares, “Carry me there.”

“I’ll draw it first.” Yuuri sets another bowl of katsudon in front of him, “In the meantime, pick at this as you like. This is the last of it.”

Yurio throws him a scowl, but with no real bite to it — he isn’t _hungry_ , not exactly, but he still craves more. The second Katsuki is out of sight, he takes it slow, but sure enough, he finishes the next helping before the bath was ready.

“Say nothing.” Yuri murmurs, looking at the bottom of the bowl, a little disgusted with himself as Yuuri scoops him up into his arms. Hugging around Yuuri’s neck, Yurio estimates it’s been about 45 minutes since he was a squirming mess, and he isn’t particularly looking forward to going back.

In the bathroom, Yuri is pleased to see a cloud of steam rising from the tub.

“Isn’t there a way to prevent this?” He asks, stepping onto the fuzzy bathmat, sliding out of his robe and pants, feeling incredibly blasé about his naked, slightly sore body. There’s some disconnect he can’t quite put words to, that his flesh had been so thoroughly used that he’d somehow passed through the barrier between worlds. He’s just a soul, floating around, attached limply by a string to this heavy mass.

Besides, it’s hard to be bashful around a man that just spent twenty minutes eating you out.

“Prevent what?” Yuuri swallows, trying not to let his eyes linger on Yuri, offering a hand out for him to steady himself on, the omega’s legs still wobbly. Reluctantly, smaller fingers entwine with his own.

(With the immediate arousal quelled, part of him worries their connection was all just a quirk of biology. Perhaps it will go away once Yuri’s body realizes there are more suitable alphas out there.)

(Regardless, as much as he’d like to, it seems rude to shamelessly gawk at him without discussing it first.)

“Heats,” Yuri toes into the water, gritting his teeth and hissing slightly at the just-a-bit-too-hot temperature, slowly powering through.

“They make suppressants. You still have to go through heats a few times a year, but you can schedule them.” Yuuri hesitates, sitting on the rim of the tub as Yuri slips into the water, “Some even claim the hormone supplements make them easier.”

Yurio grumbles, submerging himself, frustration converted into a soft moan as the heat around him saps out the tension. He leans his neck back on the tub, closing his eyes. The whole situation is still far, _far_ from ideal, but he’ll figure it out. This caught him by surprise, but _that_ initial shock can’t happen again. And scheduling heats… Well, like his yearly fitness exams and regular steroid tests, if they have to happen, he might as well know when they’re coming.

Yuuri picks up the soap and loofah, absently plucking Yuri’s foot out of the water, scrubbing at it lightly as he considered how to phrase his thoughts, “I was thinking, in terms of PR, I could get you in contact with Christophe or Phi-”

“No.”

“Um…” He sets Yuri’s leg down, picking up the other, “No?”

“I refuse.”

“They might have some insight.”

“Insight into themselves. How _they_ do it.” Yuri fixes him with _that_ look, one with such intensity and daring, harkening to something grander — the look Yuri gave him when he realized he was going to retire if he won, “If this is really my career now, I won’t do it like them. Or anyone else.”

Stubborn as the teen is being, it’s hard to argue.

“The Ice Tiger of Russia will stay exactly that.” Yuri pulls his leg out of Katsuki’s mindful hands, and stands up, feet planted shakily on the floor of the tub, pointing declaratively in the middle of Yuuri’s stunned face, “I got gold before I presented, and I will every competition after.”

Then, after a beat, Yuri folds his arms, “I _will_ take names of their doctors, they seem to keep their mouths shut.”

Yuuri blinks. Then laughs.

“It’s not fucking funny!”

“Oh, I know it’s not, it’s just…” Yuuri grins, taking a towel off of the rack, holding it open for the omega, “It’s hard to predict you sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, _good_.” Yuri huffs, stepping out, allowing Yuuri to dry him.

There is something… odd, as Yuuri pats the towel over his body. Was this submission? Yuri had always been under the impression that omegas (now him) were the submissive ones. In vague recollection (his memory of the last few weeks is fuzzy), he knows he’d been doing more chores, been more affectionate… 

“The old man is always going on about surprising people.”

_Ah,_ at the mention, Yuuri cringes. Viktor had said to call him at one of these rest points, but Yuuri had been so busy trying to please — alas, that’s always been a part of him, “He is, isn’t he?”

Yuri huffs, taking the towel out of his alpha’s hands, wrapping it around his body, “Don’t bother feeling guilty now.”

“It’s not about that, exactly…”

“Whatever,” Yuri rolls his eyes, “I don’t really want to know what you’ve got to argue about, I’m going back to my room.”

“Yeah, um…” Yuuri pulls the plug in the drain, watching as the minimal suds swirl, fizzle, and disappear. He stands up and makes for the door, remembering he’d left his phone in his room, “I’m going to call him, okay?”

Yuri grunts in a non-answer, going out of his way to push past Katsuki, looking a bit red in the face.

“Please, don’t be upset, I-”

Yuri whips his head back around, getting up in Yuuri’s face with a snarl, baring his teeth. Yuuri flinches, preparing to get chewed out (that he might deserve? He doesn’t know).

“I will be upset if I-“

Yuri’s face falls, “Crap.”

“What?”

Yuri scowls, feeling at his forehead, then drops his towel, looking down to where Yuuri’s eyes can now follow a clear trail of liquid down the teen’s leg, “I just bathed.”


End file.
